Anti-compositional techniques are an integral part to the Meadornack sound. Not to say that conventional music theory isn’t just as valuable, but what is most valuable is the clash of values (often referred to as ValuCity)–a contrast between what the Radio-Man calls “music” and “noise”.
Often, this is achieved by pitting two ideas against each other. For instance, “organization vs. chance”, or “man vs. destiny”, or “God vs. the robot head”. But interest among the All-Stars arose towards a particular extreme. This interest developed into an elaborate experiment in composition, unlimited variables, and the workings of the universe itself. All absorbed onto one cassette.
The All-Stars, embracing fortune, gave birth to this particular cassette in the hopes of creating an ultimate arrangement for those with the shortest of attention spans. But the paradox beneath the crust only hides the truth. More trouble than its worth.
As the All -Stars migrated to differnet parts of the world, they devised a system for continuing their endeavors by focusing(though not simultaneously) on one epic endeavor with the unwitting help of slave-dog postal service.
A single work, passed from All-Star to All-Star, containing only brief moments (barely seconds) of each All-Star’s unique conditions. Each participant allowed only a few moments of sound documentation to himself or herself, quickly sending the highly valued tape onto the next All-Star, wherever he or she might be.
Like a foil ball of sound, slowly growing larger and larger until it consumes the Earth, the tape circulates, accumalating the debris until it exists as its own form, living its own life traveling the world. A supreme document of sparodic, random, and versatile bytes of the WM All-Stars’ distinctly separate existences.
These sounds rise up above their usual role of a quick unthoughtful grunt, but become remarkably important. What pressure to decide what sound to best excerxise the fantastic gift. Oh yes, We will see who the real dinosaurs are.
Let’s compare the works of the All Stars to the Biblical Tower of Babel; as man’s greatest collaborative achievement. An architecture of MANipulated waves percieved as sound, occasionally categorized as “music”, though often not, standing as a monumental middle finger to the faceless Radio-Man.
But fate or the Radio-Man or Mr. God Himself has seen fit to scatter the All-Stars to all corners of the United States of Consumerism. To Ohio, Michigan, Massachusetts, Texaz, and worst of all, California. Can communication be possible at such a great distance between those who usually resort to violent argumentative means when confined to the same room for over 30 minutes?
Walt is the man with the answers: Of course communication is possible! As long as the Radio-Man’s Satanalites still orbit our humble rock, sending Kurt Loder’s smug puss to unsuspecting youth throughout the universe, they can also be used AGAINST these agents of evil. And lets not forget the disgruntled toils of our beloved Postal Service. What convenience! What bounty does the mailman bring the All-Stars? Victoria’s Secret catalogs and a very important document; the remnants of what once was a powerful empire reaching high into the skies, reduced to a single wanderer. An analog Jack Kerouac if you will, without the VD — The Wandering Tape.
From All-Star to All-Star, the Wandering Tape collects debris like a foil ball, or a tumbleweed blowing westward. Collecting only a moment of sound at a time before it must continue its journey, never knowing where it might find itself next, the Wandering Tape is a symbol of hope for the lonely All-Stars, lost in the big bad world of mediocrity. As All-Star reunions become more and more scarce, with the frightening possibility of anyone at any moment, having a career!, the All-Stars must find solace in something beyond their enormous body of work. What kind of a Futurist would be satisfied with PREVIOUS work? Not the All-Stars. The Eternal Recording, the Cassette of Man’s Persistence, the Wandering Tape, the final effort.
Somewhere out there, Slippy Breadstick is inhaling paint fumes, Donnie is using the radio for his own noble purposes, Burt is re-aligning some sort of shaft, Ned is changing a diaper, Bobbi is complaining, Charles is getting ringworm from a wrestling mat, Poppi is busy being the next Bukowski, Robbie has to buy a gun by law, Naveen is in a band that sounds like Weezer, Miss Jenny is licking herself, and Stu is still dancing.
Does this weaken Walt’s power, or is it a clever means to spread the physical boundaries of his influence? Only the Walt and Wandering Tape know. Watch your mailbox.
